The Cottage Smallholder

I feel the cold.

As a child I used to question my mother closely.
“What happened to me when I was a baby and couldn’t speak? I must have been freezing.”
“It’s easy to check if a baby is cold. If you felt chilly I put an extra layer on you.”
This was before the days of central heating when people could go to see a movie, eat fish and chips on the way home in a taxi and still have change from sixpence.

I have used a hot water bottle on and off since I could indicate that I needed some extra warmth and comfort at night. When I am ill, Danny is dispatched to the kitchen to find and fill a hottie. We have a stockpile of three. Each has an individual cover knitted by my mother.

Two with motif – a cat and a Min Pin. Both without eyes as these were eaten by The Contessa when I was not on red alert.

The third, flamboyant in its holly and berry colours has no motif. It’s the newest addition to the pack. All have old fashioned buttons to secure the cover to the bottle.

Tonight I’m exhausted. I’ve had a long and frustrating week and now I’ve come to a complete and utter standstill. So I’m going to bed early with my new hottie and the Min Pins.

Danny will join me later. Usually I tiptoe into the dark bedroom and feel my way to the bed and a somnolent D. A warm nest where, in extremis, I can defrost my feet on his as he is usually deeply asleep. Now the Christmas hottie that my mum slipped into my stocking is going to be christened and carried ceremoniously to bed.

I know what will happen. A hottie attracts the Min Pins. If positioned at my feet I’d miss out on the comfort of both. So I will place the hottie in the middle of the bed so all living beings can enjoy its comfort and warmth.